


Dream Come True

by dontrollthedice



Series: In Your Dreams [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - SCP Foundation, Canon-Typical Violence, Happy Ending, M/M, background dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25512268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontrollthedice/pseuds/dontrollthedice
Summary: When Skeppy joined the SCP Foundation as a disinformation agent, his job was clear: write articles covering up the Foundation's latest escapades, amnesticize a few people who knew too much, and maybe burn down a couple buildings while he was at it.Encountering some guy in a beat-up green car in a shady parking garage still wasn't part of the deal.(Continuation of In Your Dreams)
Relationships: Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Series: In Your Dreams [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848205
Comments: 40
Kudos: 602





	Dream Come True

**Author's Note:**

> tw: car hurts someone, gunshots fired (though no one is hit by them)

It wasn't uncommon for informal lunch meetings to be held about SCPs with lower clearance levels—and by that, Skeppy meant it wasn't uncommon for people to ask for signatures and instructions while their superiors were trying to have a nice lunch. Dream had been dating George since George was a researcher; he was the first to know what it's like, and yet he still did this. God, nobody at this facility knew how to separate work and life.

"Bad, can I ask you about the progress on the request form George sent in a couple days ago?" Dream said, standing in the space between Callahan and Spifey. "It's urgent. We need it in as soon as possible."

With that, the smile that had been on Bad's face disappeared. He sighed. "Dream, you already know what my answer's gonna be. Animal testing in this site needs to stay at a minimum."

"So what're we gonna do about the SCP on me? It doesn't react to plants or other organic material. Only living things."

Callahan and Spifey exchanged a glance before scooting a little bit away from Dream. It seemed they had read the email Dream sent out earlier regarding the SCP's current containment procedures: stay the fuck away from Dream and George.

That was probably why Dream was in such a hurry to get those papers signed. Those containment procedures sucked ass.

"Well, I still need time to make my decision. I haven't read the full document yet," Bad said.

Dream frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. "Bad, Sapnap literally read it out to you in your office."

"No, he made a rap of it—"

"What do you think he was rapping?"

Callahan snickered while Skeppy and Spifey exchanged a confused glance.

How did the Dream Team always get away with shenanigans like this? They were lucky they had known Bad since they were trainees; Skeppy doubted he would tolerate it from anyone else.

"Listen," Dream said, "there's only so long George and I can go securing this. One of us is gonna slip up sooner or later, and when it happens, we need to know how the SCP interacts with organic materials."

Bad fell silent. Dream was one hell of a persuader.

But he kept going. "And you remember everything Sapnap rapped to you, right? The description, the discovery incident, the  _ logs? _ "

Bad glared down at the table at that.

The logs. What was significant about—

Fuck Skeppy's entire life. He  _ knew. _

Spifey's concerned glance reminded Skeppy to shut his mouth and not look so horrified.

"Look at all these poor people affected by this," Dream said. "Me, George, Tommy,  _ Skeppy. _ This thing  _ tormented _ Skeppy, lied to him, made him fear for his life. And you're still reluctant to secure this thing?"

That was the best Dream could come up with? They all knew Skeppy had been in more dangerous situations: the top floor of a burning building, a gun battle with the Serpent’s Hand, held at gunpoint by a Serpent’s Hand member, another gun battle with the Serpent’s Hand… Wow. He got into an awful lot of scuffles with the Serpent’s Hand.

“Ugh… fine,” Bad grumbled. He snatched the pen and papers out of Dream’s hand and began scouring for a signature line.

Wait, what? That actually worked?

Dream smiled and bowed his head after Bad handed the papers back to him. “Thanks. I’ll contact you later with the specifics.” With that, he took his leave.

That SCP had a level one clearance level with some details of it even being accessible to level zeroes, and everyone in this cafeteria was a level two. Any change in that would've meant a security breach, which would've meant the reprimand of a lifetime. Dream was the luckiest bastard alive.

“Well,” Spifey said, his gaze darting between Bad and where Dream stood. “That was… quite a conversation. Anyway, Skeppy, how’s the weather today?”

The weather. Spifey’s job was literally talking to people and the best he could come up with for a conversation topic was weather?

“You think I went outside today?” Skeppy shot back, picking up his cup of water.

“I mean, you had to get here.”

“Got lazy and just stayed here for the night. My chair’s pretty comfy.”

Bad sighed and sent him a disappointed glare. “Skeppy, we’ve talked about your work-life balance.”

“Oh, like you can talk," Skeppy said, rolling his eyes. "I literally saw you walk home with, like, ten stacks of paperwork."

"Look, that's different."

"How is that different?"

Even as their argument continued, Bad was distracted, avoiding eye contact. His gaze flittered from his fingernails to the contents of Callahan’s lunchtray to the people sitting at the table next to them. He made noncommittal statements, the verbal form of a dismissive wave. When he wasn’t talking, he drummed his fingertips against his arm. All the telltale signs of someone who was deep in their own thoughts.

But Bad kept his secrets locked away and only he knew where the key was. And no skilled Foundation operative would ever tell where their key was hidden.

Not even to their closest friends. Not even to Skeppy.

Skeppy looked away with a heavy heart.

Life went on. That's what they worked towards, after all.

* * *

There was only so much side-eye one man could take, especially from people he respected and cared about.

“Can you both stop looking at me like that?” Skeppy said, glaring into the mirror as he puffed his hair up. Ugh, not enough hair gel. Who was in charge of the budget for disguises?

Spifey raised his palms. "Alright, alright. No need to get defensive."

"I'm not being defen—"

"Guys," Tapl sighed, "the mission."

Oh. Right.

Skeppy frowned when his hair drooped but listened as Spifey briefed them again.

"The Foundation issued us a car to drive to town with—And no, Skeppy won't be driving," Spifey added when Skeppy turned to face him. "We all know what happened last time we let Skeppy drive."

"Okay, that wasn't even my fault," Skeppy said.

And it hadn't been, as far as he knew. He had stopped at every stop sign, followed the flow of traffic, done everything he could to not make himself stick out as a bad driver, only for all his efforts to be ruined by a distinctly non-anomalous deer that had jumped right in front of his path. Another team needed to be sent out. Turned out that running into a deer after explicitly being told to watch out for them wasn't a good look. 

_ Maybe if that deer had actually been anomalous, _ Skeppy thought, turning back to fix his hair in the mirror.

"I’ll drive," Tapl said.

Spifey nodded, undoubtedly noting that down for the report they would have to make later that day in the case somebody fucked up. "So, Tapl's driving us into town. While he's parking, Skeppy and I will walk together down this street—" He paused to mark a specific road on the map in front of him. "And split off under the guise of being old friends heading to their apartments after hanging out. We'll have been seen together the entire time we've been there, after all."

"This is awfully specific," Skeppy said.

"You know it has to be, or else one of us would fuck it up. It'll be nighttime at this point. I'll wait for Tapl to get to my location before we walk into a bar together and get as much information as we can from the target. Skeppy, you're breaking into the target's house and administering a class B amnestic."

"Why do you always say that like I'm some sort of vandal?"

"Because you are," Tapl snickered.

Skeppy rolled his eyes and threw the empty bottle of hair gel at him, cursing internally when Tapl caught it without so much as a blink.

"After that, it's a matter of who finishes the job first," Spifey said, only barely managing to bite back laughter. "Whoever gets to the car first is responsible for making sure no one's keeping tabs on us. The other party needs to get to the car an hour later, then the job's done. I'll come back tomorrow and see if the disinformation tactic worked, and Tapl will write up some recommendations for the containment team." He shut the folder in his hands and looked up. "Everyone got it?"

Both Skeppy and Tapl mumbled something resembling a yes.

"Skeppy, you done with your hair yet?"

Skeppy groaned but stood straight up, reaching into his pockets. Class B amnestic, wallet with a fake driver's license and some pocket money, fake private investigator license. Good. Everything was still there. And all his lockpicking tools were in his briefcase.

He grabbed his briefcase and faced the exit of the dressing room. "Yeah. Let's get this over with."

* * *

“You’re leaving already?"

Skeppy stopped in his tracks.

It took a second for Spifey and Tapl to realize Skeppy wasn't walking step-by-step with them and to turn around, but that was the least of his worries.

Skeppy took a deep breath before whirling around, only to come face-to-face with the person he wanted to see least and most. "Oh, hey, Bad."

"Don't 'oh, hey' me," Bad said with a frown. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Is that your lockpicking briefcase?"

"Yes."

"Have you secured your amnestic?"

"Yes."

"Did you bring—"

"Oh my god, I have everything," Skeppy said with an eye roll. “I’ll be fine. I’m a professional, Bad, I’ve been doing this for years.”

Then Bad stopped and looked at him with the warmest, most caring gaze Skeppy had seen from a Foundation operative.

Removing emotions from their work was the only way to survive this job. To have Bad willingly, purposefully show him a glimpse into his heart was—

It was…

Skeppy’s heart stuttered.

“Just be careful, alright?” Bad said in that gentle way he reserved for Skeppy. He set a hand on his shoulder, unaware the skin beneath his hand was set ablaze. “Promise me that. Please.”

_ Please. _

Skeppy set his hand on Bad’s and swallowed the doubt and uncertainty down, finally allowing himself to immerse himself in the affection just for a second.

But there was no time for that.

Skeppy picked Bad’s hand off his shoulder. “I promise.”

With that, Bad nodded and took a step back.

Skeppy turned away, took a deep breath, and walked out of the facility alongside Spifey and Tapl.

* * *

“So,” Tapl said, whirling the steering wheel to the right. He winced when he drove over a bumpier part of the road. “Are we gonna acknowledge what happened back there or are we just gonna… you know, pretend it didn’t happen?”

Skeppy leveled an unamused glare at both him and at Spifey, who laughed into his hand. “Nothing happened.”

Tapl leveled an equally amused gaze at him through the rearview mirror before turning away. “Alright, whatever you say.”

“But, uh…” Spifey cleared his throat. “If you ever want to talk about it—”

“Shut up!” Skeppy shouted.

The car fell silent, but Skeppy knew the two were laughing internally nonetheless.

Fucking pricks.

* * *

Nighttime had fallen by the time Skeppy had reached his role in the mission. While his actions would look more suspicious under the cover of night, all his research (meaning everything Mega had bothered to tell him about the location) told him nobody in this area was known for staying up past what he liked to call amateur hours. Besides the owner of the house, of course. At least, as long as Spifey did his job correctly.

God, this mission was fucked.

But there was no room for hesitation. Skeppy unlocked his briefcase and pulled out his set of tools, taking a preliminary look at the lock in the meanwhile. Pin and tumbler. He wouldn’t need to expend any good amount of effort.

Within minutes, the lock clicked. Skeppy set his hand on the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open. He looked around once he shut the door behind him.

A dark, empty kitchen and dining room greeted him. A set of dirty dishes were left in the sink, and breadcrumbs were scattered on the tiled floor. A wrapped loaf of bread rotted away on the kitchen counter, mold visible on the edges. Incredible—this person was more of a mess than Skeppy.

Skeppy paused. No footsteps. No creaks. Good to go.

Skeppy opened the refrigerator door, wincing when bottles clanked against the walls of the fridge.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. He tried to not judge, but when the fridge consisted solely of copious amounts of alcohol, he hoped his target at least tried to question their life choices every now and then. Though his target did admittedly have a good taste in alcohol. No hint of cheap, college-reminiscent beer.

He patted down the amnestic in his right pocket.

The target had just been told he earned a promotion, according to Mega's findings. That was cause for celebration, wasn't it? And given the sheer variety of high-quality alcohol in the fridge, the target knew their way around drinks. Spifey had already reported their target spoke openly about keeping his celebration going at home. If Skeppy was a recently promoted businessman with a vast knowledge of alcohol… 

Pinot noir. Man, he loved empathy.

Skeppy pulled the bottle out of the fridge. Luckily, the cork had already been drilled into and half the contents of the bottle were gone. Nothing suspicious about cracking it open. There had to be a corkscrew somewhere in here.

It was in the first drawer Skeppy opened. Figures.

Cork removed from the bottle, amnestic slipped in and dissolved, cork back on, wine bottle back in the fridge. Considering his recent missions, this had to be one of the easier ones. But this wasn’t the hard part—far from it.

Skeppy looked out of the window and sighed.

Going back. That was always the hard part.

* * *

If Skeppy was in charge of employment for the Disinformation Department, he would’ve thrown Mega out so long ago. But alas, all he could do was push the paperwork from this mission onto him for giving him the wrong information.

A white button-up was not what he was supposed to wear to a college town. This town was hot, too, what was he thinking wearing long, thick pants? And a briefcase? Who carried a briefcase in this town? Hair gelled back was an uncommon sight, though maybe it would’ve looked okay if he hadn’t made those other mistakes. 

Maybe he just looked like a nervous freshman. Maybe. Hopefully.

“Another day of bullshit gen eds,” Skeppy said, sighing as he talked into an inactive phone. Did this look convincing enough? It would have to be enough. “I don’t know why they won’t just let me take business classes already. That’s my major.”

Parking garages at night were the shadiest places on Earth. Fuck playgrounds at night, empty schools, any Foundation site—this place gave him hella heebie-jeebies.

Heebie-jeebies. When did Bad’s vocabulary start becoming his own?

Well, he supposed it was around the same time Skeppy humiliated himself in front of his coworkers by calling Techno a muffin as an insult. But there were bigger things to worry about when it felt like anything could jump out at him at any moment.

Skeppy sighed as he walked down another parking level. God, why did Tapl have to park so damn far? Secrecy was important and all that, but that didn’t warrant—

That green car had been there for an awfully long time, hadn’t it? And there was a person in it now, sitting in the driver’s seat with a conveniently perfect view of Skeppy's car.

It could've been a coincidence, sure. But at the Foundation, coincidences didn't exist.

Skeppy crept forward with his phone still held up to his ear.

The dark green paint on the car was chipped and the car itself dented, but the car itself? Damn. High-end cars were too common in this town. The figure in the car was leaned back in the driver’s seat, though their body language was by no means relaxed.

Skeppy’s skin prickled.

What shady business was in this area? He supposed this could be a drunk student drying to sober up, but the tension in their body language didn’t fit that profile. No murders or kidnappings had happened recently in the area, nor had anybody gone missing. This car was an anomaly in a peaceful town.

Skeppy stopped in place when the headlights of the car blinked on. The driver moved their hand to pull back the stick.

Skeppy waved.

The car rushed forward.

His heart dropped. Cars weren’t supposed to move that fast. What the fuck?

Get out, get out, get out of the way—

Deer in the headlights. That’s what he was, right? For a moment as he stared down the blinding lights of a car headed straight towards him, everything in his head went blank.

Then he remembered.

A comforting, reassuring touch. Green eyes filled to the brim with the most warmth in the world.  _ “Just be careful, alright?” _ spoken in the softest tone. Love. Maybe not the same type of love, but love nonetheless.

That was what they worked for, what kept the world going.  _ Love _ kept the world going. Love for the SCPs they secured, love for every kind of SCP they contained, and love for the people they protected. The person Skeppy wanted to most protect. He’d be damned if he let himself be killed right here and now.

Skeppy leapt to the side. Most of his body escaped the impending force of the car. He looked back, only to see his left foot colliding with the front bumper.

The sound of a crack bounced off the walls of the parking garage. That couldn’t be good.

Burning pain seared through his foot as the car tires screeched, but pain was secondary to the reprimand he would get if he let a person of interest drive away with no consequence.

Skeppy equipped his pistol and fired everywhere he was certain his shots would land—tires, license plate, back windshield. With as much damage as he did to the car, it would be identifiable. He should probably tell the local law enforcement to watch out for it, actually.

The pain finally processed. Holy shit. His foot pulsed, his foot ached. If his foot had been dipped in lava, it would feel less painful than this.

Skeppy bit on his hand to muffle his shout and slowly crumpled to the floor.

This was fine. This was absolutely fine.

Oh, was that Spifey and Tapl walking back? They were supposed to come an hour later, why were they here?

“Sir?” came Spifey’s voice. Then pounding, rushing footsteps. They stopped once one of them lifted Skeppy by the arms. “Sir! Are you alright?”

Skeppy paused to think, then remembered that SCP from what felt like so long ago. God, he needed to sleep.

Skeppy’s eyes shut. “Tell George he’s a fucking dick.”

That was all Skeppy could say before nodding off into a deep sleep.

* * *

“... have him registered as a Serpent’s Hand member. Site 13’s been dealing with this guy a lot, last time I heard.”

Skeppy blinked, his eyes staying open longer between each blink until he could keep them open long enough to make out the all-too familiar room of the medical wing at Site MC. One person sat next to the bed he lied down in, and two others stood by him.

Wait. That was Spifey’s voice.

“Fuck,” Skeppy mumbled, scrambling to sit up.

“Hey, Bad’s with us, watch your fucking mouth,” Tapl said with a snicker when Bad turned to glare at him.

Bad leaned forward in his chair and crossed his arms with a sigh. “Both of you, watch your language. But whatever. Skeppy, do you mind telling us what happened?”

There was no warmth in his voice. Back to business, he supposed.

Skeppy yawned as he pushed back the fog surrounding his brain. “Um… there was this kinda shady car, right? I saw it when we first arrived, then saw it still there when I came back. I thought it was kinda shady, so I walked closer. Guess the guy didn’t like that, because he set the car into sports mode and drove straight at me. I jumped out of the way, though. Only my foot got hit.”

Bad gasped. “You got hit by a  _ car?” _

“My  _ foot _ got hit by a car. That’s, like, the sixth least useful body part.”

“Well, I have some good news for you,” Spifey said. “Police found a car with a bunch of bullet holes in the back driving erratically. The guy ran, but I guess you shot out the tires enough for them to deflate over the chase.”

“Turns out he was Serpent’s Hand,” Tapl added, picking at his fingernails. He looked up and gave Skeppy a bright smile. “Hey, that’s your tenth run-in with the Serpent’s Hand! Double digits club.”

Bad sighed and said, “That’s not something to celebrate.”

Tapl only shrugged at that. He patted Skeppy on the shoulder. “I’ve gotta run, but rest up, alright? The doc said you didn’t have a head injury, but you were asleep the entire car ride here.”

“Was I seriously asleep that whole time?” Skeppy asked after the three said their goodbyes to Tapl.

“Out like a light.” Spifey laughed at the dumbfounded expression on Skeppy’s face. “Seriously. But I’ve gotta go follow up on that mission. See you around, alright? Heal up soon.”

Spifey walked out of the room after exchanging goodbyes with Skeppy and Bad.

And now it was just them two.

There was a stiff, tense silence between them before Bad finally spoke.

“I told you to be careful,” Bad said, looking away from Skeppy. His words were cold, devoid of the warmth and gentleness he had said those same words with just yesterday. Understandable, but Bad had no right to say that when he used to go on even more secretive missions.

“I was careful,” Skeppy huffed.

“Oh, yeah, approaching a suspicious vehicle by yourself is super careful,” Bad said, whipping his head back around towards Skeppy. The ferocity in his glare was new. That was okay; Skeppy could return it tenfold.

“I approached it carefully!”

“You can’t just run into these situations without thinking of the risks first, Skeppy. That’s how you end up shot or run over or—”

“What, dead? Are you really concerned about that?”

Hurt flashed across Bad’s face, and Skeppy regretted it all.

“Of course I am,” Bad said, his voice cracking towards the end of his sentence. It was quiet, but a whisper would’ve been enough to crack Skeppy’s heart. “You’re my best friend, how could I not worry?”

“W-Well… Dream and George are sharing that dream SCP thing,” Skeppy stammered, but his tone was just as weak and flimsy as that defense.

“Out of worry. Dream agreed to keep it on him for a while out of worry for George.”

“Yeah, but they literally love each other.”

Bad sighed and furrowed his eyebrows. “Skeppy, how many times have I told you I love you?”

“Not like that,” Skeppy murmured.

The two fell silent, both refusing to look at the other.

It wasn’t like Bad’s worries were unfounded. Skeppy had a tendency to rush headfirst into danger. He was one of the most confrontational at the site and while he had the skills to peel himself out of a particularly tricky situation, that didn’t mean he always escaped unscathed. This time, it was his foot. How much longer until it was his arm, his torso, his  _ head? _ Not much time if he kept this up.

Life was so, so short. It was easy to forget that when he worked with immortal anomalies on a daily basis, but he was still very much human, and so was Bad. One run-in with the wrong SCP or group could mean the end of their lives and everything they had worked towards.

Skeppy didn’t know how much time he had. He didn’t know how much time  _ Bad _ had. And he was right: they exchanged “I love you”s like it was going out of style. They both meant it with every bit of their hearts. The difference was how they meant it.

Skeppy knew how he meant it. He can’t wait any longer to figure out how Bad meant it.

“I love you,” Skeppy blurted.

Bad didn’t even blink at that. “Thank you, Skeppy, I love you, too.”

“No, like…” His heart tightened when Bad tilted his head. He was a professional at the top of his field, for fuck’s sake. Why did he feel like a kindergartener with a puppy crush?

“Are you feeling alright?” Bad asked. “Your face is turning red.”

Skeppy groaned. “You’re not helping!”

“Well, okay, how can I help?”

“I swear, you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what on purpose?”

“I just—” Skeppy groaned and buried his face in his palms. “Ugh, I love you. I  _ love _ you.”

“Yeah, I  _ love _ you, too.”

Skeppy looked up.

Bad stared back at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He definitely knew what he was doing.

“Can you just date me already?” Skeppy asked, his voice quiet and heart pounding.

Then Bad gave him a bright smile that could rival the sun and gazed at him with such adoration Skeppy went breathless. “I’d love to.”

Love was hard. Love was fragile. Love was so, so vulnerable.

Yet this is the happiest Skeppy could remember feeling. Developing paranoia was a requirement for his job, so how did it come to this? Why did sharing his heart to someone make him so happy?

“Hold my hand?” Bad asked, his smile now nervous.

Skeppy reached out with a hand shakier than he’d like to admit.

And when they made contact, his heart combusted.

* * *

“So,” George said, “I heard you were gonna make your last words something about me.”

Skeppy rolled his eyes. “It’s just my foot. It’s not like I was gonna die or anything.”

“What a surprise, knowing you.”

The urge to splash George with lukewarm coffee was real, but it wasn’t worth being scolded over getting the break room’s carpet wet. Skeppy only rolled his eyes and took a sip.

It was a week after what everyone at the site decided to call “Another Episode of Skeppy’s Bullshit” (which was a name Skeppy did not appreciate, thank you very much). He was finally adjusting to the boot on his foot, but that didn’t make it any less annoying to haul around with him everywhere. And now that he was on paperwork duty until he recovered…

“Shut up,” Skeppy grumbled.

George only giggled that smug, machine-gun giggle he had.

The two stood in silence at the crack of dawn, Skeppy sipping at his drink and George waiting for his own coffee. Yet even with being teased and the exhaustion finally settling in, Skeppy couldn’t help but grin.

“What’re you grinning about?” George asked.

“None of your business.”

“I know that grin, Skeppy. Something happened with Bad, didn’t it?”

“No,” Skeppy said, his voice wavering like an idiot.

George gave him a smug smile. Skeppy sent him an eyeroll back.

“Well,” George said, “if you want to tell me anything, feel free to do so.”

“I hate you.”

“Noted.”

The clock in the room ticked by the second. George tapped his foot, waiting for his coffee.

Ugh. He didn’t want to say it. Did he need to say it?

“Thanks, by the way,” Skeppy grumbled.

George smiled. “No problem.”


End file.
